HOW THE KNIGHT HULDBRAND WAS BURIED.
Father Heilmann had returned to the castle as soon as the death of
the lord of Ringstetten had been made known in the neighborhood, and
he appeared at the very same moment that the monk who had married
the unfortunate couple was fleeing from the gates overwhelmed with
fear and terror.
"It is well," replied Heilmann, when he was informed of this; "now
my duties begin, and I need no associate."
Upon this he began to console the bride, now a widow, small result
as it produced upon her worldly thoughtless mind. The old fisherman,
on the other hand, although heartily grieved, was far more resigned
to the fate which had befallen his daughter and son-in-law, and
while Bertalda could not refrain from abusing Undine as a murderess
and sorceress, the old man calmly said: "It could not be otherwise
after all; I see nothing in it but the judgment of God, and no one's
heart has been more deeply grieved by Huldbrand's death than that of
her by whom it was inflicted--the poor forsaken Undine!"
At the same time he assisted in arranging the funeral solemnities as
befitted the rank of the deceased.
The knight was to be interred in the village churchyard which was
filled with the graves of his ancestors. And this church had been
endowed with rich privileges and gifts both by these ancestors and
by himself. His shield and helmet lay already on the coffin, to be
lowered with it into the grave, for Sir Huldbrand, of Ringstetten,
had died the last of his race; the mourners began their sorrowful
march, singing requiems under the bright, calm canopy of heaven;
Father Heilmann walked in advance, bearing a high crucifix, and the
inconsolable Bertalda followed, supported by her aged father.
Suddenly, in the midst of the black-robed attendants in the widow's
train, a snow-white figure was seen, closely veiled, and wringing
her hands with fervent sorrow. Those near whom she moved felt a
secret dread, and retreated either backward or to the side,
increasing by their movements the alarm of the others near to whom
the white stranger was now advancing, and thus a confusion in the
funeral-train was well-nigh beginning. Some of the military escort
were so daring as to address the figure, and to attempt to remove it
from the procession; but she seemed to vanish from under their
hands, and yet was immediately seen advancing again amid the dismal
cortege with slow and solemn step. At length, in consequence of the
continued shrinking of the attendants to the right and to the left,
she came close behind Bertalda. The figure now moved so slowly that
the widow did not perceive it, and it walked meekly and humbly
behind her undisturbed.
This lasted till they came to the churchyard, where the procession
formed a circle round the open grave. Then Bertalda saw her unbidden
companion, and starting up half in anger and half in terror, she
commanded her to leave the knight's last resting-place. The veiled
figure, however, gently shook her head in refusal, and raised her
hands as if in humble supplication to Bertalda, deeply agitating her
by the action, and recalling to her with tears how Undine had so
kindly wished to give her that coral necklace on the Danube. Father
Heilmann motioned with his hand and commanded silence, as they were
to pray in mute devotion over the body, which they were now covering
with the earth. Bertalda knelt silently, and all knelt, even the
grave-diggers among the rest, when they had finished their task. But
when they rose again, the white stranger had vanished; on the spot
where she had knelt there gushed out of the turf a little silver
spring, which rippled and murmured away till it had almost entirely
encircled the knight's grave; then it ran further and emptied itself
into a lake which lay by the side of the burial-place. Even to this
day the inhabitants of the village show the spring, and cherish the
belief that it is the poor rejected Undine, who in this manner still
embraces her husband in her loving arms.